“And when he drew near and saw the city, he wept over it, saying, “Would that you, even you, had known on this day the things that make for peace! But now they are hidden from your eyes.”
-Luke 19:41
When I read this passage, it causes me to wonder when the last time my heart was so deeply burdened for a people, a city, a region (or all of humanity), that it brought me to tears. In this journey, there are countries that you’re naturally excited for, and some that you don’t invest in as much as others. There are some ministries that you adore and some that you merely tolerate. As much as I’d like to say that I have given my all in every single ministry opportunity I have been presented with, that just isn’t the truth. I am often a little more impacted than I’d care to say when I am both tired and hungry while “on the job.” Sometimes I allow Jesus to work through me when my patience has worn thin. Sometimes I’m really stubborn and have a hard time admitting that I’m at the end of myself.
Part of feeling called to go on the Race, I think, is a deep appreciation for many different cultures. Often though, this appreciation never develops past anything else. 11 months of moving and traveling is great when you want to get a taste of each country and see if God might be potentially calling you to that specific region, but it often is not enough time to develop anything deeper than mere appreciation. In one of my very first blogs (about Guatemala, month 1: forever ago) I complained that I didn’t yet feel burdened for the people of Guatemala, and that I was hoping God would grant me a certain connection to them. It happened, sort of, but on a smaller scale than I’d expected. I felt a connection to individuals, but not necessarily to the culture or to the people on a large scale. It has only happened on a few occasions that I have been grieved deeply by the sin of a city that doesn’t know it’s searching for Jesus, even when there has been ample cause to bring me to bitter, angry, helpless tears.
The first time I was ever impacted really deeply by a particular people group was when I was 21 years old. I was in Johannesburg, South Africa (not far from where I am now), working in an orphanage called Door of Hope. Admittedly, prior to landing in Jo’burg, I was pretty ignorant to the history of the struggle that was hard fought just years before. Through several conversations with people of South Africa, both white and black, I heard the stories of racism, oppression, and civil unrest among South Africans, not unlike the story of my own region of the United States just 60 years before. I visited the Apartheid museum and was handed a “non-white” pass*, so on a much smaller scale, I experienced the segregation for myself. I saw remnants of the hurt and dissension during my time there, but overall, I saw hope of redemption and reconciliation. Man, it was beautiful. I was grieved that so many people were murdered, beaten, and mistreated in the name of political progress, and it infuriated me that the sweet aunties at DOH thought I was more beautiful than them because of my skin color. My heart was broken by the beautiful, black babies who were discarded on the side of the street, found in rivers, or left at our doorstep. I was set aflame. When I left South Africa, all I could think about was going back and partnering with ministries who believed that the gospel transcends race, gender, and social status.
The Lord has allowed me to feel this deeply for only two other places and peoples in the world since. Once was during our time in Pattaya, Thailand, as we worked with an organization called Thrive Rescue Home and did bar outreach (I wrote a blog about it a few months back if you want more information). Once was very recently when I felt called to move to New York City for mission work after my return from South Africa**. But it hasn’t been for lack of reason. Every country we’ve been to has possessed ample reason to grieve. We’ve been surrounded by suffering, poverty, and hardship. We’ve been surrounded by multiple religions who worship false gods whole-heartedly. And such is the case here.
It is rumored that 50% of Swaziland is HIV Positive, and that many Swazis believe that it’s the result of witchcraft. The life expectancy for people here is around 50 years of age, meaning that many children are living without one or two parents. People are dying without knowing the gospel, or they are dying having rejected Jesus, and that is cause for weeping. There is hope in all of this, though. God’s plan for redemption is the same for all of humanity. It is the same here in Swaziland as it was for Jerusalem. Jesus acknowledges our past, always, but he calls us to redemption through salvation. It was predicted in the Old Testament that many who heard would reject the gospel of grace, but fortunately, it does not apply to everyone. There is hope in the gospel, just as there is hope in the tears Jesus shed over a fallen Jerusalem. If I am called to love as my Savior loved, it must be like this. He weeps now, for Swaziland, and for all of the people who don’t know him all over the world. When was the last time you felt deeply moved on behalf of those who don’t know redemption? Ask the Lord to reveal to you how you might be burdened for the people you’re surrounded by.
Something good to listen to about Jesus’ plan for redemption is this song, from the album Crimson Cord by Propaganda: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j26OeSgsQsc
*Upon entrance into the Apartheid Museum, you are given a pass that either says “White” or “Non-White.” You go through the museum a certain way, according to which way your ticket reads.
Grace and peace,
Sarah
